


Hell lives in you

by TheRegularWriter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Caring Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, I'm not sure if Carl is OOC though sorry, Introspection, It's the only genre I can write shut up, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Markus (Detroit: Become Human)-centric, Mental Breakdown, My first Markus fic so I hope it's good waaah, POV Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Past Abuse, Past Near Death Experience, Poor boy never processed his trauma, Post-Canon, Resentment, Telepathy, Trauma, Traumatized Markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRegularWriter/pseuds/TheRegularWriter
Summary: In what should've been a peaceful day for Markus, he comes to realize there's no peace inside him. Not when he sees Carl and Leo for the first time in months.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91





	Hell lives in you

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a Markus-centric story! I know Connor shows up, but I tried to emphasize my underrated boy this time (HOW in the world is Markus, a protagonist, underrated in his own fandom... I mean, I know why - *cough* fandom racism -, but still). This is also sort of a vent fic, because every character I write has something of mine :'v
> 
> Please be aware of the tags before reading. I hope I did Markus justice, because he deserves way more recognition. Enjoy!

Months have passed since the beginning of the revolution. Winter has not come to an end yet… but there are more sunny days, days when Detroit is illuminated by a more promising future.

And today is also a day off. Markus is not tasked with his usually busy schedule, filled with debates and meetings with representatives. This time, he’s allowed a time for himself, allowed an entire day to rest for the first time in a while – as are all his friends from Jericho. Given this, Markus has at least one plan, a more carefree occasion: he’ll be visiting Carl after persevering months. He has, of course, been contacting his father figure in long-distance whenever he can, but it’s not the same in person. That’s why Markus enters the mansion with the same warmth from before, and once he spots Carl in his studio, the RK200 can’t contain a wide smile.

Carl welcomes him with his same energy and love, but with a few differences. Markus is now a free man and he can proudly claim himself as his son.

But something that has escaped the android’s enhanced attention is another presence in the studio. One he hasn’t been… expecting today.

Leo.

Comparing him to their last confrontation, Leo certainly looks better. His dark bags are no longer visible under his dark eyes. He doesn’t bear a malicious smile or the uncontrollable rage from before. He looks… happier. More accepting and open. Markus notices this as Leo immediately apologizes to him for what happened. He notices, in the way it comes from his heart, and not because Carl told him to.

And Markus accepts it. He should and he does.

But there’s… something off. Not with Leo. Nor Carl. The two aren’t profoundly intimate, but they’ve gotten closer since Markus last saw them, and it’s- it’s a good thing. He’s grateful for this.

And yet, there’s something wrong with _himself_. He doesn’t know what it is and can’t explain it.

As the three of them catch up, Markus realizes he’s not as interactive as he tends to be. He doesn’t meet Leo’s eyes most of the time, and when he does, he smiles politely and looks away. The young man responds in the same fashion, yet he doesn’t seem any suspicious. At some point, Carl and Leo even… laugh together, when the latter attempts to paint something, failing miserably to his standards.

Markus can’t bring himself to laugh.

(When Markus discovered his own artistic side, Leo came barging in, reinforcing the cruelty of the world, inside his very home.)

(He realizes he’s clenching and unclenching his fists.)

What’s worse is that Carl notices it, and even brings it up when Leo goes to the bathroom.

“Markus, you’ve been really quiet,” Carl points out in a lower tone. “Something’s bothering you.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that. Is it…” The older man pauses and looks up in realization. “Is it Leo?”

“No! No, that’s not it. I’m fine, Carl,” Markus insists, as to convince him (but mostly himself). He knows Leo has changed; he’s witnessing it right now, his effort and kindness. He’s happy for him, he’s happy that Carl is reconnecting with his son after so many uncertain years.

(Then why is Markus feeling like this? This unwelcome and sinking feeling? This rising dread?)

“Markus, I know that what happened before was terrible,” Carl tells him. “I understand you must be cautious… but I promise you, Leo is not going to do anything to you. He’s truly changed.”

The android lowers his gaze and whispers, rather painfully, “I know.”

(He knows, and for some reason he feels… neglected.)

The conversation is cut short when Leo returns. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to suspect anything.

Their time ends an hour later, reaching the end of the afternoon. Markus is the first one to leave the house. Although the sun still shines, he’s not soothed by it.

* * *

When Markus returns to New Jericho, he immediately isolates himself in his room. Even so, he doesn’t bother checking whether his friends are near.

The pressure in his chest is tighter, heavier. Almost suffocating. His stress levels rise.

At that, he goes for an artistic solution, to busy his mind; to focus on anything but this.

Markus faces the blank canvas that waits for his first move. He begins painting without a clear path, hoping it washes away the bad sensation. Unlike his expectations, however, it doesn’t.

(Leo has changed and he’s better. He and Carl are better… mainly, for the fact Markus was gone. Stripped away from where he once knew.)

Markus has picked blue and black, mainly. A soft, light sky blue, and a darker blue, clashing into one image.

He closes his eyes.

(He was shot and left for dead.)

Think.

(He would’ve been forgotten.)

Focus. Focus.

(Carl and Leo would’ve been fine.)

( _And he would have **died**_.)

FOCUS

F O C U S

In front of him, he finds a crying blue eye, and the violent dark blue dirtying the exposed parts of a face, also filling the tears. It looks desperate to call for help, but smudged black hands try to engulf it and suck it deep into the ground.

Markus’ hand is shaking.

His brush pen falls. Blue dirties his hands. And tears burn his face.

Sobs wrack his throat. His knees stop working, and thus he’s on the ground, pathetically protecting himself with his arms. He can’t hold anything back. Markus has cried before, but not like this. Never like this. He can’t stop.

It **hurts**.

Markus growls. He hates this. He hates feeling this. He shouldn’t be upset. Why is he upset? He’s free, he should be alright. But he’s angry and horrified, and he’s not sure at what or _whom_. Is Markus cruel? Is he entitled?

Lost in this cycle of thoughts, in this pain, grief, anger— Markus falls apart.

_Markus?_

A voice has penetrated in his telepathic surroundings. It’s calm and composed, and familiar.

_Markus, can you hear me?_

Thus, Markus knows he’s not alone in the room anymore. And he can’t bring himself to look up, to expose himself, his selfish tears. He’s grown dead silent. Ashamed.

 _Markus…_ He identifies worry.

 _Go away_ , the deviant leader pleads. _Please, go away._

_But you’re in distress. I can’t leave you alone like this._

Markus shakes his head, yet he doesn’t insist. He… He doesn’t have any strength left. Any defense.

He hears light footsteps approaching, very slowly. Soon enough, he acknowledges the other person kneeling down near him. Markus doesn’t turn around.

 _Focus on me,_ the voice instructs him. _Focus on your surroundings. Focus on the paints, on the scent of wood… can you do that?_

Despite his avoidance, the RK200 quietly complies. Yet smelling the paint does little to help him.

(It reminds him of Carl. Of Leo putting him down. Of the smell being the last comforting detail before a bullet goes through his body. Carl’s and Leo’s laughs echo, a haunting melody.)

Noticing this, he hears the voice again.

_You’re alright. You’re safe._

Markus listens. He wants to believe it. He wants to. He doesn’t want to go back. Never.

_You’re okay._

The distressed android, for once, lowers his arms and gazes at his own blue-stained hands. The heart-wrenching painting is also haunting his view. Despite everything, though, Markus’ thirium pump is not stabbing his processors.

 _Now, do you think you can turn around?_ They ask. _It’s okay if you can’t._

Markus, at first, goes against it. He doesn’t want to be denounced. He… He doesn’t want to be punished for this. Yet the voice is patient, attentive and, overall, concerned. He feels heard. Cared for.

Markus remains on the wooden floor and looks at the person facing him. Somewhere inside him, he can’t hide his awe. Connor, the former deviant hunter, appears with curlier, rebellious hair and rather cozy clothing; he’s wearing a black hoodie of a metal band, possibly due to Hank’s influence.

Connor is not shocked or desperate. He’s not pitying him, either. He’s understanding and empathetic. His brown eyes are soft. Markus is quite aware the RK800 was designed with social and negotiation skills, relying on manipulation to get results. But he’s far from being manipulative right now. Connor has been dedicating himself to help others, to help his own kind. He’s reliable and thoughtful, and very caring.

Markus, unsure what to do or say, has his gaze back to his hands. Meanwhile, he knows Connor is contemplating the painting, and at one point he speaks through their telepathic channel again.

_Can you tell me what happened?_

Markus can’t. Not… Not with words.

… Which gives him an idea.

Raising his head, Markus opens his mouth but closes it. Instead, he offers him his hand.

Connor catches on.

_Are you sure?_

The other hesitates for a moment… but, wishing to figure out what he's feeling, he essentially nods.

Connor’s hand soon approaches his, skins retracting to the neutral colors beneath every android. An opportunity for androids to share memories and emotions. When it starts, Markus projects himself back to where he was. It’s… strange coming back. Remembering who he used to be.

Leo asking for money, then blaming Markus for everything. Leo, later that night, breaking into the house to sell one of Carl’s paintings. Going after Markus, who has nothing to do with the situation. Insulting him, harassing him. Markus being ordered not to do anything. It’s unfair. He tears down the red walls that have hold him back, he pushes Leo, knocking him unconscious. Carl falls off his wheelchair and cradles his son, and Markus is overcome with guilt. Carl yells at him to leave, but Markus can’t, he _can’t_. The police arrive and shoot him, and everything blackens, until he awakes at the junkyard; an android harvest, abandoned limbs, hands helplessly trying to reach him.

Inevitably, Markus ends up replaying today’s events. The contrasting fun, the carefree time the three men had. Carl and Leo bonding like they never did before. Markus left out. Angry. Frustrated. Carl’s words worsening it, even though they weren’t ill-intentioned. Neither was Leo. Even so, Markus is tossed aside. Left in the dark. He knows it’s not their fault. It’s sickening.

When it ends, more tears roll down his face. His mismatched eyes meet Connor’s, who hasn’t said anything still. He looks… mournful. Sympathetic. The RK800 gazes back as if wanting to say something, anything, but not knowing what.

Markus almost chooses to curl up into a ball and swallow in his despair… when the brown-haired android shifts closer and whispers, “May I stay?”

The deviant leader, noticing how their hands are still touching, replies not with words, but with himself leaning on the other, hiding his face in his shoulder. Connor’s hands move to his back. His touch is… somewhat awkward at first. He’s never done this before, Markus assumes. Yet the way they’re pressed against Markus’ back is solid and comforting, and the latter can only hold onto him tighter. At this point, he’s dropped his tense shoulders, and his tears wet Connor's hoodie.

Connor remains quiet. One of his hands makes it to the back of Markus’ neck, white-gray fingers contacting his skin; emphasizing his presence. Silently promising Markus that he’s not insane or unreasonable.

Markus was abandoned in the junkyard. Technically, because of Leo. He never processed that at all. Of course, Markus would never regret the place he is right now. He could never regret his freedom.

But it didn’t have to be that way. It didn’t.

He cries harder, and Connor bears the blue in his tears for him. His hands are not shutting him down, but they protect him, reassure him.

He’s angry, so angry. He feels so awful. Will he ever get better? He’s not sure.

But with Connor here, Markus wants to believe he will.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter thread with carrds on current world issues --> https://twitter.com/skeletonjacket/status/1277981438013370368
> 
> Another carrd on world issues --> https://issuesintheworld.carrd.co/


End file.
